


Somewhere Between Sorrow and Bliss

by AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)



Series: Of Walls and Nerds [22]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bittersweet?, Brief Aranea, Brief Cor, Established Relationship, M/M, Probably bittersweet, World of Ruin, mentions of addiction and withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 03:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12290727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyoxyethylene/pseuds/AtropaAzraelle
Summary: The darkness is encroaching and everyone has to do their bit to keep the world as safe as they can. Unfortunately, that means Ignis and Gladio will have to spend some time apart.





	Somewhere Between Sorrow and Bliss

The world they had returned to teetered on the brink of ruin. It was taking all the resources they could muster just to keep it there. Day had been reduced to scant hours of an unsafe, unsettling twilight, and Lestallum, never the cleanest city, was becoming a heap of forgotten refuse. The world had enough problems without turning their minds to small details such as how to dispose of every tin and wrapper that was used by the growing population of the biggest refugee city on Eos.

They'd managed to get the makeshift field hospital moved into an apartment block away from the edge of town. They lacked enough doctors, nurses, and supplies, so the place was manned mostly by anyone that didn't panic at the sight of blood, a handful of severely overworked medical professionals, and a few hunters. Disease was going to be a concern as Lestallum grew more crowded, Ignis knew. The city's sanitation wasn't equipped to handle the increasing population, and the filth on the streets was attracting pests.

Food, too, was a high priority. They had enough to last a few months, but every day Noct resided within the crystal made the day he would eventually return seem to draw further and further away. Securing the supply lines was tricky. For now, Galdin and Caem were able to provide seafood, and what lands they could secure were being turned over to farming, but soil wasn't soil everywhere, and plants were finicky things.

They needed to return to Gralea. Aranea had done supply runs back and forth between Niflheim's abandoned bases, salvaging what she could. Vehicles, food, _information_ , all trickled in to the tune of Aranea's magitek engine flying overhead. She had yet to retrieve the broken down carcass of the Regalia, citing that it was on her shopping list. She _had_ returned from one foray into an empty Niff base and shouted at Ignis to catch.

He had, barely; the lukewarm tube of metal landing into his hands and nearly jumping straight back out again. Liquid sloshed inside, and Ignis had thrown her a questioning look.

“The Niff scientists share your taste in coffee,” she said. “I figure there's enough in the whole base to keep you going for about a month.”

There had been a tease in her voice, and Ignis had smiled, and thanked her, and _most_ of the coffee had made it to the city’s stockpile. Ignis kept a few cans, slightly more than he felt comfortable about, and rather less than he wished, tucked away in his and Gladio's kitchen. He'd suffered his caffeine withdrawal already; horrendous headaches that had made him want to curl up, and tempers that had left him snapping at Gladio, and Prompto, and even Cor about small things and large ones.

Gladio had borne it with grace, but stood firm, telling Ignis in no uncertain terms that he needed to get a hold of himself. Prompto had spent time in Ignis's presence like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Cor, when Ignis had snapped at him, asking how he could be expected to offer his opinion on supply routes when he couldn’t see the map, had simply asked, “How are the headaches?”

“Awful,” Ignis had admitted, scowling at himself for losing his composure, and in general because the world at large wasn't helping matters.

“Count yourself lucky you don't smoke too,” Cor said, with his usual cool distance. “We nearly had a riot on our hands when we started rationing tobacco.” Ignis heard him inhale, turning back to the information he'd been looking at. “I'm not looking forward to when that runs out completely.”

“It's a black market currency,” Ignis had said, softly. “There's more of it in circulation than we'd think.”

Cor had grumbled, thoughtful and displeased. “Until it starts getting cut with something that gives us a different kind of problem.”

Ignis had frowned at that. “Indeed.”

It had taken a week for the headaches to subside, but it was a week that meant that Aranea's sly gift was able to sit, untouched, in the back of a small cupboard.

“Why don't you hand it over?” Gladio asked, one evening. They'd been afforded a small apartment, smaller than the one Ignis had kept back in Insomnia, yet relatively luxurious by Lestallum's current standards. They had a bedroom which was just large enough for the bed inside it, a toilet and shower, though no room for a bath, and a living room with attached kitchenette, or, depending upon your point of view, a kitchen with a sofa and television at one end.

It wasn't much, but it was rapidly becoming home. Space was at a premium in the city, and some of the more unscrupulous landlords had tried to profiteer off the crisis. Cor, and the newly formed Kingsglaive, had quickly seen an end to that. It was a short sighted tactic in any case; a Gil was only worth what someone would trade it for, and money was rapidly becoming worthless. As such, those landlords that had offered their properties were compensated in ways that were more useful in the current climate; food, fresh water, weapons, and power. The owner of the building in which Ignis and Gladio now lived was among them. Prompto had been given another apartment in the floor above, which he shared with Iris. If one could extricate the danger, and the fear, and the encroaching darkness from circumstances, Ignis might have even allowed himself to admit to being happy.

“Emergencies,” he'd answered, as he'd put dried plates and cutlery away. “One never knows when it might come in handy.” The truth was, after many, many years desperately reliant on caffeine, Ignis had the same antsy displeasure at the prospect of not having access to any more Ebony as he did with the prospect of running out of curatives. It was ludicrous, of course, but such was the nature of addiction, and even now, while he may have kicked the habit due to circumstances outside of his own control, the notion of not having _access_ in the event he wished for a can made him feel quite agitated.

“Admit it,” Gladio said, his hands coiling around Ignis's waist and drawing him back into his arms. “You're just an addict. You still can't give it up.”

Ignis had been prepared to protest, but the warmth of Gladio's arms was safety, and the bizarre little home they'd set up was comfort, and here, if nowhere else, he could afford to drop his guard once in a while. “I may feel better knowing it's there,” he confessed.

Gladio gave an amused huff in response, and tucked his nose in to Ignis's neck, brushing his lips over skin. “Do me a favour?” he rumbled, his voice deep and pleasant down Ignis's ear. “When this is over, don't go getting addicted to that shit again.”

Ignis gave a soft sigh as he tilted his head, letting Gladio press a kiss to his neck. “I'm not in the habit of making promises I can't keep,” he replied. “I may need an incentive to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“Oh, I can give you an incentive,” Gladio had all but purred.

The night had been lost, then, to Gladio's mouth, and Gladio's hands. The sensation of coarse fingertips probing sweetly running counter to the soft heat of Gladio's lips around him and complementing it beautifully. Ignis came with his hands tight in Gladio's hair, and then he held Gladio against himself, murmuring filthy fantasies and sweet nothings into Gladio's ear while Gladio fucked his hand until he spilled his pleasure between Ignis's thighs.

When morning came, an ill defined thing these days due to the poor nature of what little light filtered down to them, they went to the training grounds. Once, in the centre of Lestallum, there had been a restaurant popularised by Exineris workers. The city had thrived and bustled, as had its eateries. That was gone, now. The city bustled, certainly, but it was permanently riddled with fear, an edge of panic and despair in the atmosphere.

There were people already about as they made their way through the city. Hunters walked tall, but quickly. Refugees huddled and kept the edges of the streets, not wanting to be in the way of those passing them. Everyone kept out of the way of Ignis's stick as he walked beside Gladio, needing no guide other than the sound of Gladio's footsteps to keep pace.

The impromptu training grounds were quiet at this hour. Ignis shed his jacket, handing it off to Gladio to be put aside, along with his stick. He couldn't fight while holding it; they'd determined that much. In time, Ignis hoped to be perceptive enough to get around without it most of the time, but for now it served as a beacon to those they walked amongst that Ignis couldn't see and required a little more consideration.

“Okay,” Gladio said, slipping into a tone that brought Ignis back to when he was a mere teenager, watching Noctis be schooled by his Shield. Gladio had been bold, beautiful, and unblemished by the battles that would come. Had it not been for the smell of the training room, the way the flooring here didn't squeak when he twisted on the ball of his foot, the echoes being all wrong, Ignis would have been able to imagine this was one of their late evening sparring sessions, back when their relationship was a blossoming friendship and his aching affection for Gladio was a simple boyhood crush. “We're gonna work on your target practice. No bells, this time.”

Ignis gave a small nod and called one of his daggers to hand. The weight was reassuring and well balanced, and he gave it a gentle toss, feeling the way the weight shifted as it left his hand in a spin. He forced his mind blank, refusing to try and count the seconds, relying on muscle memory to tell him when to reach out to catch the dagger again. He could toss and catch his daggers without looking at them before, but it had proven difficult since losing his sight because of the awful urge to overthink things.

His body knew what it needed to do, what things should feel like, Gladio had explained the first time he'd bandaged Ignis's fingers after a mistimed catch. It was his brain getting in the way, with that edge of panic, and that reliance on thinking through things. Choking, they called it; it happened to professional athletes and hunters alike. When you get stressed, the brain tries to take over, and it slows down every step of the process. The body has completed the task so many times before that the brain is only getting in the way. Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and trust that you've got this.

The hilt of the dagger landed in Ignis's open palm, and his fingers closed around it. Ignis allowed himself a smile. “As you wish,” he said. “Tell me when to begin.”

He listened to the sound of Gladio stretching, the faint groan of satisfaction he gave, followed by a popping sound that was unmistakably him cracking his knuckles. There was a sound, a high pitched tinkling, like broken glass, and then Gladio said, “Go.”

Ignis threw the dagger underarm without hesitation, and heard it clang against Gladio's shield. Then there were footsteps; the faint sound of Gladio moving around to his right. Ignis called the next dagger to his hand and listened. The bells had helped him track movement, and aim; he could tell from the soft jingle whether his target was low, or high. In their last target practice session he'd sliced the bell tied to Gladio's shield from its string, a quarter inch above the bell itself.

Without the bell he was forced to listen to other clues. Gladio took another step to the right, his steps light, the movement slow, as if he was trying to make as little noise as possible. Ignis held his breath, listening to the shift of the dirt beneath Gladio's feet, and the creak of his leather shoes. He threw the next dagger, but the ring it made against Gladio's shield sounded off centre. A hit, but not a perfect one; Gladio was still moving, and he hadn't taken that into account.

Ignis turned, putting Gladio on his left, and then taking a couple of steps backwards. Daemons didn't move as quietly as Gladio, but battles weren't as quiet as training. Sometimes the only warning of an incoming attack was the rush of air and the creak of a daemon's exoskeleton as it moved. There was also no guarantee that those he would be fighting would be mere beasts and daemons.

The faint sound of Gladio's foot twisting in the dirt made Ignis pause, bringing his dagger to hand again and listening intently. He was changing direction, and Ignis brought his arm up slowly, primed to throw as soon as he wished. Gladio was drawing closer, his footfall this time was direct, from the same direction but fractionally nearer. Ignis let Gladio draw in another step, and another before he ran, counting six strides to his right before he let the dagger loose again.

This time the ring from the shield was true, and he heard Gladio give a satisfied grunt.

Gladio only allowed Ignis a second to revel in his success however. With no warning, Gladio's footsteps fell heavy on the floor, approaching quickly. Ignis danced out of the way, stepping and turning to keep distance between himself and Gladio without letting Gladio get behind him. He threw the dagger again as he heard Gladio strafe to his left, nothing but Gladio's breath, and the brush of his clothes, and the sound of his feet to tell Ignis where he should aim.

There was another satisfying ring from Gladio's shield, but neither Ignis nor Gladio let up. Gladio's footsteps gave that he was still advancing, faster now, and Ignis took a step, and another backwards before he let another dagger fly.

Ignis smiled as he heard the dagger hit the shield, another distinctive ring telling him he'd hit centrally again, and it came with another accompanying grunt of approval from Gladio. Gladio was trying not to speak, he knew; Gladio's voice would be a dead giveaway of his position, and that was practically cheating.

His footsteps still drew closer, and Ignis could hear his breathing now without listening for it, an indication that he was much too close, and drawing too close to throw anything at. To back up, strafe to the right, or something else? He had a split second to decide before he was within range of a blow, and Gladio _would_ knock him off his feet if Ignis gave him the chance. This was target practice, but the target was both moving, and trying to attack him.

With an intake of breath, Ignis moved, darting along Gladio's right side, sweeping low as he did. His hands hit the floor as he dropped, and swung his leg to where Gladio's feet were. He felt one of them catch against his lower shin, and he brought his leg through, dragging Gladio's foot out from under him as he did.

Ignis was already springing back to his own feet as he heard Gladio's cry, and grunt as he landed on the floor. With a flick of his wrist he summoned another dagger into his hand, and he gave Gladio a moment to pull his shield back into place before Ignis leant down and tapped the blade against the metal. “I believe you're dead,” he said, with a smile.

The sound of applause interrupted the moment. Ignis turned his ear towards the sound, and then straightened up. With his ear still turned towards the origin of the noise he held his open hand out into empty space, and was rewarded by Gladio's warm, rough hand locked around his wrist. Ignis helped him to his feet before he spoke. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Aranea?”

“Oh, you're getting very good,” she said, approvingly. Ignis turned as Gladio's hand landed across the small of his back. “My shoes?” she asked.

“And your height,” Ignis replied, smirking a little. “If you'd clapped around your knees I'd have been rather confused.”

That drew a sweet, tinkling laugh, and Ignis felt Gladio's fingers spread, and then his hand shift more to his hip. “So why you here?” Gladio asked.

“Looking for you two,” Aranea answered. Ignis heard a movement, and imagined her folding her arms and throwing her weight over one leg. “I'm running another expedition to Niflheim. We're going to pick up your car.”

“The Regalia?” Ignis asked. Things hadn't grown quite so dire yet that they'd been forced to move the retrieval of the Regalia up the list of priorities. Even retrieving the Crystal and moving it to a place of safety hadn't been high on the priorities of those in Lucis, as yet. The Crystal still slumbered, and Noct within it, and both yet resided in Gralea. Securing supply lines had come first. Aranea was monitoring the airwaves, in the event Noct emerged in the interim, but even Ignis was being forced to admit, now, that Noct may be some time in returning to them.

“You had another car?” Aranea asked, teasingly. “Cid and Cor were arguing it out yesterday. We're to retrieve the car, and hand it over to Cindy at Hammerhead. Only you're the only ones that know where you left it.”

“When do we leave?” Gladio asked.

There was a moment of silence that made Ignis's spine tingle unpleasantly with wary anticipation. When Aranea said, “You're leaving with me tomorrow morning. Ignis has to stay here.”

“Why?” Gladio asked, and Ignis could hear the temper beginning to rise in his indignation. “You saw him just now--”

“That's not why I have to stay, Gladio,” Ignis said. He turned a little, so that if he could see he'd be looking at Gladio out of the corner of his eye. Instead it gave him a clear ear to Gladio's responses. “Resources are thin on the ground; they can't spare me right now.”

Ignis listened to Gladio's breathing, to the deep, shaky inhale and exhale, controlled, but deliberately so. From the other side of the room Aranea said, “Got it in one. Cor needs his brains.”

“There are supply routes, and alternative routes to secure,” Ignis said, softly, “and the shoring up of resources to attend to. I expect your journey to Gralea won't be a swift one.”

“No,” Aranea confirmed. “We're making a fuel delivery to Galdin, then moving some refugees out of Cartanica to Accordo. We're picking up the car and taking it to Hammerhead on the way back, and who knows what job will be waiting for us when we get there.”

Gladio's fingers curled over Ignis's hip, tugging him a little more firmly against himself. “Tomorrow morning then,” he said. Ignis felt the fingers tighten on his hip.

“Bright and early,” Aranea said, then she turned, and her footsteps receded.

Gladio sighed by Ignis's ear. “It was an inevitability, Gladio,” he said, placing his hand over Gladio's fingers.

“I know,” Gladio answered, quietly. “Doesn't mean I have to like it.”

They sparred for a while longer after that, although the atmosphere had changed. Gladio seemed distracted, concerned. Ignis wasn't going to do anyone the disservice of pretending he wasn't similarly distracted. His thoughts kept returning to Gladio's impending departure, and desperate bids to estimate how long he might be gone. At Galdin, and Hammerhead, at least, there would be contact. Once he was over the water at Accordo and Niflheim, however, that would cease. How long would be reasonable for him to maintain silence? How long before Ignis should allow himself to consider the worst?

They went their separate ways in the afternoon. Ignis went to speak to Monica for a more up to date appraisal of their priorities and resources, and Gladio left him while he spoke to Prompto, and Iris. Gladio was already home when Ignis returned that evening, a tape recorder in his arms.

“What's this?” Gladio asked, as Ignis felt the bulky tape recorder lifted from his grasp.

“I can neither read, nor write,” Ignis answered. “Monica has kindly recorded any information I may require on these.” He fished into a pocket and drew out a couple of cassettes. “It's old technology,” he admitted, “but easier to maintain, and the tapes can be recorded over many times.”

“I haven't seen one of these since I was a kid,” Gladio said, nostalgia brimming in his voice.

Ignis couldn't help but smile at it. “They were defunct technology even back then,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” Gladio said, fondness in his tone giving Ignis the impression he wore a soft smile, “but my dad had dozens of tapes of old music he used to let me and Iris listen to when he was busy. He said they used to play them in the car, and they'd always fight over who got to pick.” Ignis followed the sound of Gladio's voice until he could place a hand on the back of Gladio's shoulder. Gladio shifted under his hand, looking up from the tape recorder, and the cassette Ignis could hear him turning over in his hands. There was a faint click of plastic being carefully set down, and then Gladio took Ignis's hand in his. “I need to talk to you,” he said. “Come and sit down?”

Ignis allowed himself to be led to their small couch. It was just large enough for the two of them to sit side by side, and Gladio guided him over, and gave his hands a gentle push, indicating he should sit. Ignis did so, feeling his heart start to beat in double time. “What is it?” he asked.

He heard Gladio sink to his knees in front of him, and warm, callused hands grip his gently. “Will you marry me?”

Ignis swallowed, his mouth uncomfortably dry and his heart fluttering away in his chest. He tried to force himself to say something, anything. “Gladio,” he began, like a weak protest, “is this really the time?”

The hands around his squeezed more tightly. “I wish I'd asked you in Altissia,” Gladio said, but it sounded as if the words were directed at the floor. “I wish I'd asked you in Caem when I'd wanted to, or back when I'd first bought the ring, but I didn't, I waited because I wanted the time to be right.” There was a shaky breath. “The time's never gonna be right, Iggy,” Gladio said, “and I'm not making that mistake again. I don't want to walk away from you tomorrow and regret that I didn't ask you.”

Ignis took a deep, slow breath, and pulled one of his hands from Gladio's grip. Gladio let it go with a trace of reluctance, but when Ignis reached forward, finding Gladio's cheeks with his fingertips, Gladio tilted his head into the touch. “You said,” Ignis replied, softly, forcing himself to keep control of the waver in his own voice, “that you can't die until you make an honest man out of me.” He gave a small huff, and swallowed, before he pushed the rest out. “Well I'm not letting you make an honest man out of me, Gladio,” he said, more firmly, “I'm sorry. You can ask me again when this is all over, but until then I'll remain a dishonest man to whom you have to return.”

“Ignis,” Gladio's voice was quiet, and pleading. “I can't know I'm coming back. I can't know either of us are going to survive this.”

“I have faith in you,” Ignis answered in a whisper, and brushed his fingers through Gladio's hair. The change in texture from where it was longer to where it was shorn short allowed him to guide his fingertips over the curve of Gladio's ear and into the hair at the back of his head. He could tell Gladio was looking at him from the way his head was tilted, and Ignis fixed him with a gentle smile. “Come hellfire and highwater, Gladiolus Amicitia,” he said, his smile widening a little, “you _are_ going to take me down that aisle if I have to drag you there myself, but right now the only promise I'm letting you make is that you'll be there to do it.”

He heard Gladio wet his lips, felt him turn his head so he wasn't looking at Ignis. “I can't--” he began.

“You can,” Ignis answered, matter of factly. “You will. You will survive what comes, for Noct, and for me.”

Gladio shifted, a rush of warm air brushing Ignis's knuckles as Gladio turned his head back in against the hand in his hair and sighed. “All right,” he answered, defeat edging towards resolve and irritation, “fine, but that little punk better not keep us waiting.”

Ignis smiled, a flicker of amusement coming to him at the way Gladio spoke of their King, and saviour, as if he was never going to be more than their somewhat bratty charge. “Agreed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone that has been reading this series thus far. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


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